must be dispensed with, and to-morrow's sun shall see her your's for ever, at the Priory of Fairwell,-unless, indeed, you would leave her there a nun,-for one of the two the spoiled chit vows she will be!" A burst of joy from all around followed this speech. The young men crowded to congratulate Felix; the maidens drew closer to their sweethearts; the elders wept aloud; Gaffer Redmayne grasped his friend heartily by the hand; while his Gammer enfolded the young couple in her wrinkled arms, sobbing forth blessings upon them. As for Felix, he looked like one in a dream; the colour mantled richly to his cheek and brow, then left them white as statuary marble; he gazed around; uttered an incoherent something; till at length, clasping his betrothed wife to his bosom, he buried his face in the full soft tresses that escaped from her kerchief, and tears such as the extremity of bodily pain could not have wrung from him, streamed from his eyes upon her snowy neck. We have too many melancholy incidents to record in this tale, not to indulge ourselves with something like relief in its progress,but our narrow limits compel us to drop the curtain abruptly on this rustic scene: and we must now transport our reader to a very different one, the royal Council Chamber in the Tower of London. Suppose, then, Sir Humphrey Stanley arrived in London, furious for revenge, and eager to lay his wrongs before the King in council; calculating highly on his own favour and rank in the royal household,-much upon his name, than which there was none more powerful at this period, and not a little on the influence of his cousin, Sir William Stanley, the Lord High Chamberlain. It was in the early part of January, 1479, that Sir Humphrey, ascending the grand staircase in the north-east turret of the White Tower, and traversing a narrow vaulted gallery, found himself in the presence of the most heartless and sordid sovereign that ever burdened the English throne. The Council Chamber was a stately apartment, ninety feet long, occupying the uppermost story of the White Tower. The roof, of majestic altitude, was supported by massy beams of timber, disposed in horizontal and transverse fraine-work, coloured and gilded in various fashions; these were sustained in turn by two rows of heavy wooden pillars, highly carved, marking off the apartment into something like aisles. The painted panes of the round Norman windows receiving only a secondary light from the exterior lattices of the surrounding galleries, transfused a troubled but solemn splendour upon this divan of England's wisest and noblest. The unwonted agitation on sedate features, which not often were permitted to betray the inward emotion, the indescribable stir of consternation half suppressed,-but chiefly the dubious smile on Henry's passionless countenance,might have shewn Sir Humphrey that some disturbance had already occurred in the Council Chamber. Engrossed, however, in his own feelings, he had already knelt before the King,-stated with vehemence the outrage on his honour and happiness committed by Sir Valentine Chetwynd,- and had received his highness's command to rise,-when, struck by his peculiar tone, he raised his eyes to Henry's face, and saw there that portentous smile, like a dull lamp in a dismantled chamber, only increasing the dreary gloom. But how was the devil unchained in Sir Humphrey's heart, when, glancing to the King's right hand, he beheld it resting on the shoulder of Valentine himself, while (a basilisk to his eye) his daughter, now the Lady Magdalene Chetwynd, stood a little behind her husband. Her manner was as one who, struggling for the firmness she knows to be necessary, assumes a dignity she does not feel; her attitude was firm, her eye steadfast, but her cheek was deathly pale; an almost imperceptible tremor at times passed over her frame, and more than once she seemed to be instinctively clasping her hands, but always as suddenly did she repress the impulse. The last drop was now poured into the cup of Sir Humphrey's fury; forgetful of the presence in which he stood, regardless of the penalty attached to the deed, he sprang forward, and his arm was actually upraised to strike Sir Valentine, when it was arrested by two or three of the noblemen present. The whole chamber was instantly in confusion. The King. alone remained unmoved: commanding silence, he sat rigidly upright in his tall backed throne; his hat of purple velvet glooming over his smooth sallow brows, and his long straight hair combed down on either cheek, he looked like some animated image as he addressed the furious knight, "We have known Sir Humphrey Stanley as a good and loyal knight,--we have known him as one chary of his reputation,-but we had yet to learn what he hath now taught us, that a gentleman of so many descents, a subject so high in his sovereign's favour, could so far forget our rank and his own honour, as to brawl in our very presence!" Sir Humphrey, who by this time began to see the extent of the heinous outrage he had attempted, again threw himself on his knees, and said, (his deep chest heaving with subsided tempest, and his large eyes glaring like half extinguished torches), "Your royal grace will surely deign to pardon the burst of a robbed father's feelings at first sight of the robber. If that may not be, here is my right hand," (stripping his large and hairy wrist,) "let mallet and cleaver do their work upon it. She who was in sooth my right hand hath been lopped off already." There was a softened and a saddened change in Stanley's voice as he concluded this sentence, which much assuaged the indignant mood of those who had so recently witnessed his turbulence; and even Henry addressed him with something like compassion. "Be appeased, Sir Humphrey ! we love you much; no less, indeed, than we prize our trusty Knight here of Ingestre." The father of Magdalene groaned and gnashed his teeth. "Who," continued the Tudor, "hath, we trust, by his gentle audacity, put an end for ever to the feud between two honourable houses, wherein even our royal self has hitherto interfered in vain." Another explosion from Sir Humphrey interrupted this speech; but it was not one of anger, but of unfeigned astonishment and dismay. His eye had for the first time alighted on his kinsman, from whose powerful interference in this their family affair he had expected so much. Wild and incoherent were the exclamations that burst from his lips, when he beheld Sir William Stanley, his minever robes rudely disordered, his face pale, his limbs trembling, and his whole appearance denoting the deepest dejection, in the custody of the Earl Marshal. Henry proceeded, however, in his address to Sir Humphrey, as if nothing had interrupted him. "Say not, Sir Knight, that your house is to be trodden into the dust, for your branch hath by this marriage been grafted on so stately and flourishing a stock, that it must needs put forth fair blossoms and rich fruit, even if our royal favour did not shine upon it, as surely it shall. As for our trusty and beloved Chamberlain, we credit not the charge against him, and have only permitted this arrest that he may have occasion openly to convince all men of his loyalty. In sooth, this pretended Duke of York, this Peterkin or Perkin Warbeck hath grievously troubled our estate; and certes, we bear him the less good will that his intrigues against our crown and dignity have glanced upon one to whom we owe so much. Ill can we spare the counsellor we shall lose if Sir Robert Clifford's accusation be true," and again the odious smile glimmered ghastlily over Henry's clayey features. The person last mentioned, who stood near the King in the soiled and disarranged attire of one arrived from recent travel, turned haughtily upon his heel, muttering, "Thou hast won me, and hardly!— but had I thought such a falsehood could have polluted thy lips, I would have laid my head as the first step, but I would have lifted Warbeck to thy throne!" smell like Bucklersbury in simple time," is a phrase of Shakspeare's, in the Merry Wives of Wind sor. It was then chiefly inhabited by druggists, who sold all kinds of herbs, green as well as dry. Their houses were observed, in the time of the plague, to be kept free from visitation. Decker, in "The Westward Hoe," a comedy, printed in 1607, says, "Go into Bucklersbury, and fetch me two ounces of preserved melounes,-look there be no tobacco taken in the shop when he weighs it ;" and again, "Run into Bucklersbury for two ounces of dragon-water, some spermaceti and treacle." The tower that stood here, called Cernes-tower, was amortized (made over) by Edward III. in the thirty-second year of his reign, to the Dean of St. Stephen's Chapel, Westminster. CRANBOURN ALLEY. In this passage the celebrated Hogarth was apprenticed to Mr. E. Gamble, a silversmith, with whom his chief employment was to engrave cyphers and armorial symbols. He remained here about six years, till the year 1718. NEW GRAVEL LANE, SHADWELL, Was named from the carts loaded with gravel, which passed through it to the Thames, where the gravel was employed in ballasting ships, before ballast was taken out of the river. It obtained the epithet of New, to distinguish it from Old Gravel Lane, which was used for the same purpose long before. J. The Naturalist. TURKEYS. (For the Olio.) It is generally allowed that the turkey was originally brought from America. In its wild state it is considerably larger than our Devonshire birds. Michaux, in his Travels to the Allegany Mountains, says, "The wild turkeys, which begin to be very scarce in the Southern States, are plentiful in those to the westward. In the most uninhabitable parts they are so tame as to be easily killed with a pistol shot. In the east, on the contrary, and particularly in the neighbourhood of the sea-ports, they cannot be approached without difficulty: they are not alarmed by a noise, but they have a very quick sight, and as soon as they discover the hunter, flee away with such rapidity, that it takes a dog several minutes to come up with them; and when they see themselves on the point of being caught, they escape by taking to flight. The wild turkeys generally remain in the swamps, and by the sides of rivers and creeks, and only come out in the morning and evening. They perch on the tops of the highest trees, where, notwithstanding their bulk, it is not easy to see them: when they have not been frightened, they return to the same trees for several weeks in succession. To the east of the Missisippi, in a space of more than 800 leagues, this is the only sort of wild turkey which is met with. They are larger than those reared in our poultry yards. In autumn and in winter they feed chiefly on chesnuts and acorns; and some of those killed at this season weigh 35 or 40lbs. The variety of domestic turkeys, to which the name of English turkeys is given, in France, came originally from this species of wild turkey, and when they are not crossed with the common kind, retain the primitive colour of their plumage, as well as that of their legs, which is a deep red. If, subsequent to 1523,* our domestic turkeys were naturalized in Spain, and thence were introduced into the rest of Europe, it is probable that they primarily came from some of the more southern parts of America, where there doubtless exists a species different from that of the United States." In the Elements of Natural History, the turkey is said to eat, when young, garlic and nettle, but is killed by the fox-glove (digitalis purpurea). This bird is so well known as not to require description: their colours vary, but in all of them the tuft of black hair upon the breast is prevalent. Turkies are bred in great numbers in Norfolk, Suffolk and other counties, whence they are driven to the London markets in flocks of several hundreds. The dribit of red rag tied to a long pole, vers manage them by means of a which, from the antipathy these birds bear to this colour, acts as a scourge, and effectually answers the purpose.The hen turkey begins to lay early in the spring; is very attentive to the business of incubation, and will produce fifteen or sixteen young at one time, but seldom has more than one It is remarked in an old distich, enume rating the good things of which this island was Turkeys, carps, hops, pickerell and beer, hatch in a season in this climate, (they are said to have three broods in the West Indies.) The poults, on their first extrication from the shell, are very tender, and require attention in rearing them. The cottagers who bring up this peculiar sort of poultry, annually make them a part of their families during the breeding season: they are subject to a variety of diseases arising from cold, rain and dews; even the sun itself, when they are exposed to its more powerful rays, is said to occasion almost immediate death. As soon as they are sufficiently strong, they are abandoned by the mother, and are then capable of enduring the utmost rigour of our winters. The motions of the male turkey, when agitated with desire or inflamed with rage, are very similar to those of the peacock: it erects its train, and spreads it like a fan, whilst the wings droop and trail on the ground, uttering at the same time a dull, hollow sound; it struts round and round with solemn pace, assumes all the dignity of the most majestic of birds,--and thus expresses its attachment to its females, or resentment to those objects which have excited its indignation. Sketches from Oblivion. D. Out of the old fields cometh the new corn. SIR E. COKE. HENRI QUATRE. The following curious letter of this distinguished ornament of the French throne to his mistress, Gabrielle d' Estrees, we think will not prove unacceptable to our readers. "My beauteous love! "Two hours after the arrival of this courier, you will see a cavalier who loves you much; they call him King of France and Navarre, which are certainly honourable, though very painful, titles; that of being your subject is infinitely more delightful: all three together are good; and let what will happen, I have resolved never to yield them to any one. HENRY." THE TABLE TALK OF KING JAMES I. VIRTUE. Virtue is easier than vice, for the essential difference betwixt virtue and vice is truth and falsehood; it is easier and less painful to tell truth than to utter lies; and for vices of the senses, custom is all in all, for to one that hath lived honestly, it is as much pain to commit sin, as for another to abstain from it. A REBUKE. Upon his Majesty's arrival in England, an English nobleman presented himself to the king, and protested what a faithful servant he had been to Queen Elizabeth, who permitted him to have the liberty of a free-man at her court, and to frequent all companies. When he could learn any thing which he thought fit to inform her Majesty of, she was pleased to accept his intelligence; and so he was desirous to offer his services to his Majesty, if he would be pleased to employ him. To which base proposal, the king replied, "My lord, I never had use of any secret service to betray my subjects, and therefore you may save your labour. That which belongs to me, is my own; but that which is my subjects, is theirs; my prerogative cannot alter." ROUGH AND READY. King James observed one day, upon Colonel Gray's coming to him out of Germany, in the rude garb of a soldier, buckled up in a buff jerkin, a great belt, a huge sword, and a case of pistols,-"This town appears well fortified, if it were victualled it would be be impregnable." PUBLIC CLAMOUR. The people desire war till they have it, thinking that success must attend their arms but one overthrow, one unsuccessful movement, or taxes imposed to maintain it, they require peace as much. A SIMILE. Preachers are like courtezans, they may be made to say any thing for their advantage. THE JEWS. Not only the delivery of the Jews, till they come to the land of promise, but even their daily preservation was miraculous; for we do not find that Jerusalem ever was infested with a plague, although situated in a hot climate; which, if it had been, would have endangered the whole nation, as it was customary for the people to as semble there three times every year. The Nate Book. I will make a prief of it in my Note-pook, M. W. of Windsor. LOTTERIES. Mr. Blunt, in his "Vestiges of Ancient Manners and Customs discoverable in modern Italy," has endeavoured to trace the practice of lotteries to classical times. A lottery, it appears, was an agreeable afternoon pastime with the Romans. Augustus was accustomed to sell tickets, varying greatly in their value, and would in the same manner dispose of pictures with their faces turned to the wall, in order that he might amuse himself with the pleasure or disappointment of the purchasers. Heliogabalus used also to distribute tickets amongst his guests, with such prizes as ten camels, ten pounds of gold, ten pounds of lead, and ten eggs. DEFINITIONS. The glimpse is the action of the object appearing to the eye; the glance is the action of the eye seeking the object: one catches a glimpse of an object, one casts a glance at an object; the latter, therefore, is properly the means for obtaining the former, which is the end; we get a glimpse by means of a glance. The glimpse is the hasty, imperfect and sudden view which we get of an object; the glance is the hasty and imperfect view which we take of an object. CURE FOR ENVY. Bishop Berkeley, that acute reasoner, contrived a lucky antidote for the suffering of envy. "When I walk the streets," says he, "I use the following natural maxim, viz. that he is the true possessor of a thing who enjoys it, and not he that owns it without the enjoyment of it: to convince myself that I have a property in the gay part of all the gilt chariots that I meet, which I regard as amusement to delight my eyes, and the imagination of those kind of people who sit in them gaily attired, only please me; by which maxim Í fancy myself one of the richest men in Great Britain." Anecdotiana. TICK REfused. "Open the doore, now Polly my darling," said Barebones, "I want a naggin on skoare."-"Waite awhile, honey," says Polly, (who keeps the Cuckold in Banagher) 66 warrent you drinken in at Mock Turtell's, tell me that now?"-"No sure, not my own self," replied Barebones." Its false, you lying gossoon, I seen you walk yourself in wid you, with my two blessed eyes, and sure they diddent desave me." "Och, an is it there you'd be after driving, then not to tell you one word of untroothe at all, at all, about the bisness; faith, myself and father Cohen, and little Johnny Hooly, slipt in unobsarved, to have the value of a pig-fine. But to tell the crame of the histhory, when my pocket was drunkt dry of whiskey-bad luck to myselfbut I was very undasantly wheeled into the street; and now an't I just come to ax you for a naggin on tick."—"Sure, then, cush la ma cree," says Polly, "as you havvent just not got the money, and you diddent come here when you had, be off wid yourself, you baist; bad luck to your assurance, dickens a thimble-full will you get here, you divil-so go coff where you get cold." |